


Frankly Fanciable

by twoseas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, and being a bit in denial about it, the complexities of having a crush on your little brother’s best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoseas/pseuds/twoseas
Summary: A look at George Weasley’s relationship to one Harry Potter beginning with the year a prisoner escaped Azkaban.Featuring a perceptive Fred, an emotion riddled George, and a Harry who more than grows into his looks.
Relationships: Harry Potter/George Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 64
Kudos: 453





	1. George Weasley and the Boy Who Fancied

**Author's Note:**

> This fic ended up being inspired by several things, chief among them:  
> 1) a fan cast of young Rahul Kohli as Harry Potter  
> 2) my love for Newt Scamander and his coat  
> 3) the belief that Harry deserved a world tour (with some adventure and duty thrown in) post war  
> Please, enjoy!

George watched from a distance as Harry hitched on a fake, but convincing smile. His shoulders were slumped and defeated and the light in his eyes didn’t have quite the same shine. 

Fred leaned on a column and heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Doesn’t seem right, does it? Harry never can catch a break.”

“Just isn’t fair,” George agreed. “I can’t believe they can’t do anything at all about those muggles he lives with.”

“Like turn them into some toads?”

“Or flubber worms.”

“Some nice algae.”

“Give the squid something to snack on,” George snickered. 

“It would serve them right,” Fred sighed again. “And Ronnie’s not helping much, the git.”

George scowled at the thought of his younger brother’s actions. “He just keeps going on and on about what Hogsmeade has! Tactless, is what he is.”

“Oblivious. And it’s only getting worse with Hermione.”

Fake gagging at the same time as his twin, George sneered, “She’s going to smack him one of these days, I swear.”

“May we be there for that,” Fred told him mock solemnly. 

“I wish we could do something to cheer Harry up, though,” George mused sadly, watching the younger Gryffindor slouch off. 

“Maybe we should just sneak him out to Honeydukes and let him eat his weight in chocolate.” Fred froze in the middle of scratching his head. 

They turned as one, smiling wide and puckish at each other. 

“Fred, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’ve got the map right here,” Fred beamed, patting his pocket. 

“Come on, then! Before he hurls himself off the quidditch pitch.”

“Astronomy tower would be better.”

“Shut it, Fred.”

“Shutting it, George.”

\- - -

George and Fred sat happily sipping some butterbeer when George decided their philanthropic natures deserved a toast. 

“To us, Fred, my good man. We are truly selfless creatures.” Knocking the neck of his bottle against Fred’s, George let out a self satisfied exhale. 

“Heroic, really.”

“Practically martyrs.”

They sipped contentedly, the pleasant air left behind by a good deed done permeating the space around them. Silence reigned, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace and the scritch-scratching and page turning of some other fifth years studying in the common room. 

“Harry fancies you, you know.”

George spat the mouthful he’d just taken all over himself. 

“What, and I mean this most sincerely my dear brother, the fuck are you on about?”

Fred took his own cleanly sipped sip of butterbeer, smug as could be. “Harry. Fancying. You.”

“Bollocks.”

“Cold hard facts, George.”

“I always knew I was the smart one,” George told him spitefully, scrambling for his wand to charm a quick cleaning and drying of his butterbeer soaked sweater. 

“You’re the oblivious one.”

They both stopped to stare at each other. 

“No, that’s Ron,” they said simultaneously. 

Fred sat up, grin turning more serious. “He really does though.”

“Why do you think that?” George didn’t meet his twin’s gaze, too busy glaring at his now clean sweater. He made a point of inspecting the entire thing, rubbing at the yarn if he found even a speck of imperfection. 

“I can tell,” Fred shrugged. “Something’s different about the way he looks at you. And he gets clumsy.”

“Harry’s the best seeker in the school, he’s not clumsy,” George countered in his younger friend’s defense. 

“He’s clumsy around you,” Fred snorted. “Last week at breakfast you threw your arm around him and he spilled a cup of orange juice.”

“Because I jostled him.”

“Couple days ago you called his name down the hallway and he dropped his books.”

“Surprised him,” George dismissed. 

“I caught him staring at you on the way down to Hagrid’s and he tripped on a rock.”

Waving all the explanations away, George said lightly, “It’s been bad terrain this year. I think the grounds got bored and decided to change it up.”

“You’re in denial.” Fred pointed an insistent finger right at George’s nose. “What’s the matter, Georgie? Got the ol’ butterflies in the stomach? Flustered that a cute boy might like you?”

“Shut up!” George grabbed one of the pillows and started smothering his brother, both of them barely withholding their laughter even as Fred fought him off. “Harry’s, like, thirteen!”

“So?” Fred stopped fighting and raised a challenging eyebrow, mouth an unimpressed line. “What’s two years?”

“Uh, a lot,” George pointed out like it was obvious. Because it was. “He’s Ron’s age.”

“So?” Fred asked again, even more disbelieving. “He’s not Ron. He’s Harry.”

“Yeah, but…”

Fred watched him trail off. Thrown off guard, George couldn’t quite articulate what his problem was and Fred clearly didn’t get it. It was one of their few moments of misunderstanding. So they just kind of ended up staring at each other, Fred expectant and George confused. Confounded. Bemused. Muddled. Befuddled.

Breaking eye contact and letting George release the breath he’d been holding, Fred settled back into the sofa cushions and said, “Well, if you don’t fancy him, you don’t fancy him. Just be cool about it. I happen to quite like Harry.”

“Yeah, whatever,” George grumbled, reclining on the opposite side of the couch with much less comfort than before. Something was itching under his skin and his stomach flopped. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Why would I ever be not cool to Harry?”

Fred just picked up a random newspaper from the table and hummed noncommittally. 

George didn’t like the knowing look his twin wore. His own face most certainly never looked so infuriating. 

\- - -

What Fred said stuck in George’s brain, bringing him all sorts of discomfiture. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why, but it bothered him. It wasn’t that he thought Harry was anything less than brilliant. Fred and George always enjoyed the younger boy’s company - and they had right from the start. He was kind and openminded. A little shy at first. But never rude or entitled despite the fame. They made him laugh right away and they were happy to find that under the awkward, self-conscious boy was a fantastic sense of humor. He was also unconsciously generous, considerate but never pitying, and overall a good time. 

Honestly, George should have been flattered. 

But something, some part of him, couldn’t really separate Harry from the fact that he was Ron’s best mate. 

Which basically put him on the same level as their baby brother. 

Which made any sort of fancying…complicated. 

So. 

There.

\- - -

“Oh, hey, George. You’re up early.”

Eyes snapping away from the sugar he stirred into his coffee, George blinked up at Harry, the younger student smiling as he sat down across from him at the table. Harry helped himself to some juice and toast and bacon. His red eyes were puffy and underscored by purple shadows and there was a pallidness to his tan skin. 

George added a splash of milk to his oversweetened beverage. “You too.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry grumbled through a mouthful of breakfast, cheek bulging. 

Smiling fondly at the Chipmunk Who Lived, George asked, “What’s the matter?”

A dark look crossed his face and George felt a great swell of sympathy for Harry’s unhappiness. 

Harry grouched, “Believe it or not, having everyone around me expecting my imminent murder isn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep.”

Weighing his options, George figured Harry needed someone to help lighten things up, not show more smothering care. “Some big words there, Harry. I’m not sure I kept up.”

Harry beamed up at George, spindly fingers snatching up another piece of bacon. “You hang out with Hermione enough some of it’s bound to rub off.”

“That young lady swallowed a dictionary as an infant and it’s all been coming back up ever since.”

“That’s disgusting,” Harry chuckled. 

“Unfortunately, I lack the proper words,” George said solemnly, pulling a dramatically morose face. “I only managed to swallow the first page as a child.”

“And a whole lot of cheese,” Harry told him nonchalantly. 

George paused, parsing through the mildly uttered sentence. A wide smile broke out over his face. “Harry, did you just call me cheesy?” George asked delightedly. 

Harry ducked his head and shrugged, barely hiding a pleased smile. 

They both turned as Fred came sauntering down the Great Hall. “Brother mine!”

Fred collapsed next to George and immediately pulled a bowl of oatmeal towards himself. He tossed in fruit with playful aplomb. “And Harry, my boy! What, praytell, has you up at this ungodly hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry reiterated with a self-deprecating half shrug. 

“Ah, the thought of being terribly murdered got you down?”

George elbowed his brother even as Harry coughed around his toast. 

“Yeah, believe it or not. Silly me,” Harry responded dryly once he could speak. 

“Oh, please. You’ll be fine.” Fred dug into his breakfast and rolled his eyes. “You defeated a teacher with You-Know-Who slapped to the back of his head, rescued our baby sister from a murderous book, and survived a big fuck off serpent bite. Excuse me for not having my knickers in a twist over this.”

“That was surprisingly comforting,” Harry told him honestly. 

George still leveled a glare his twin’s way. 

“I am, as always, at your service,” Fred offered with a chivalrous wave of his hand. “Speaking of which…”

Fred leaned in and the other two followed suit. 

“How’s the map treating you?” Fred asked conspiratorially. 

Harry beamed. “It’s brilliant.”

“Told you so.” George slurped his coffee to punctuate his point. 

“Are you sure you guys don’t want it back? Now that I’ve gotten to go to Hogsmeade and everything. It’s really…” Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Are you sure you want me to have it?”

“Of course,” Fred said at once. 

“We did think it through before giving it to you, you know.” George put on a playful scowl. “Do you think we just go around giving away magical maps of the school to every random student we happen to see?”

“But…” They waited patiently as Harry cast around his brain for some sort of excuse. “You could give it to Ron.”

“Ron?” Fred made a face. “Why in Merlin’s pants would we give it to Ron?”

“That’s just plain nonsensical.” Mouth turned downward in a over emphasized moue of disappointment, George bemoaned, “You have never said a dumber thing in your life, Harry.”

“And we heard you accidentally call a quaffle a ‘cuddle’ the other day.” Fred slowly shook his head.

“He’s your brother,” Harry reminded them, trying not to be amused as he stifled his puffs of laughter. 

“And you’re his best friend,” Fred pointed out. “Also he yelled at us for a full five mintues last night about not giving it to him first.”

“It was a singularly spectacular scolding. Mum would be proud. But we digress.”

“We knew Ron would get to use it when you two mischief makers get up to no good. Not like you’ve hidden the map from him, eh?”

“Of course I haven’t, but…”

“And besides,” George interrupted, his mind swirling over the thoughts that preoccupied him the last few days. “You’re family too. You’re basically another brother at this point.”

Harry’s face went through quite the journey, features rearranging in a complicated mix of emotions. George couldn’t pick through all the minute changes, but his heart did warm when Harry’s eyes settled on bashfully pleased. 

Fred flashed a blink-and-miss-it frown at him, completely unamused and vaguely disappointed. 

George ignored that and pretended he didn’t have an inkling why. 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, toying with a bit of crust. 

“‘Course, Harry.” Fred smiled broadly. More students started ot fill in, sleep deprived and yawning. “You’re the tops, kid.”

That had Harry laughing again. 

George smiled in response. 

\- - - 

“ _ ‘Basically another brother, _ ’” Fred hissed on their way to class. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“What, am I wrong?” George asked defensively. “You know he’s an honorary Weasley.”

“Yes, George,” Fred sighed, thoroughly done with him. “That was never in doubt. What is in doubt is your intelligence.”

“Hey!”

“You just told the cute, funny, dear family friend that fancies you that you think of him as a brother?! Can you not see why I would find you incredibly thick headed for this, you absolute wanker?”

“What if I do think of him like a brother?!” George threw his hands out, feeling all sorts of feelings and not sure how to handle a single one of them. “What’s so bad about that?”

Fred paused, opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and slowly shook his head. “You could’ve at least left your options open for when you finally extricate your head from it’s unpleasant current home.”

“Th-that’s- you’re completely-”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Fred told him pityingly. “Come on, we’re running late.”

George dropped it, not finding it worth fighting over while he still couldn’t figure out why he said what he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry: And then he told me I was basically another brother. Which is...nice? Even though I kind of hate it because I think he’s quite cute and funny and he smells like grass and sweets and fireworks. So I don’t want him to think of me as a brother. But then again...this still means he likes me and thinks I’m important. What do you think?   
> Hedwig: ...  
> Harry: ...  
> Hedwig: ...  
> Harry: Yeah, you’re right. You’re so right. Thanks, Hedwig.


	2. George Weasley and the Spiked Punchbowl

Panting from the exertion of some very enthusiastic dancing, George skipped his way off the dance floor he’d been absolutely tearing up and waltzed his fine self over to the refreshment table. 

He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead and chugged down some spiked punch. His eyes skittered over the Great Hall, landing on a morose looking Harry. 

He was sat next to a long windedly ranting Ron, clearly not hearing a word as he was focused on something farther away. 

George followed the younger man’s eyeline all the way to where Cho Chang and Cedric swayed too slowly for the song, looking all sappy and romantic together. 

George felt for Harry and then felt a dropping in his own gut. He took a bigger gulp of punch. 

Cedric reluctantly pulled away from Cho and pointed towards the refreshments. She nodded and held his hand until he was too far to reach. 

Blegh. So mushy. 

Harry watched her for a moment, a kind of mortified, resigned longing in his eyes. 

And then. 

And then he watched Cedric walk all the way to the table, green eyes wistful and full of just as much yearning as when he regarded Cho. 

Which was…Well, it was certainly something. 

George sensed Fred’s presence before he heard him, voice pitched at just the right volume to be heard over the music, but not overheard by passing people. “Ask him to dance,” Fred told him, nudging him with his elbow. 

“Why would I do that?” George tried for lofty, but it came out more strangled and confused. 

“You’re still impossible,” Fred groaned. 

Cedric was a few paces from them and the refreshment table and Harry caught sight of the two of them. 

They waved - Fred with his left hand, George with his right, and in perfect sync. 

Harry smiled crookedly and waved back. Ron looked over at them, scowled, and went back to ranting about something that had him spectacularly bothered. 

Cedric poured two cups, sparing the twins a friendly nod before heading off with his offerings for the starry eyed young lady.

Harry glanced between Cedric and Cho, that melancholy look back on his face. 

Feeling in his bones the need to distract Harry, George waved again, drawing his attention back. 

Harry furrowed his brow, watching him expectantly.

Fred, on board with George’s plan without the need for words, pointed at Ron and mimed chattering with his hand. 

George pulled a face and slouched, mimicking Ron’s disgruntled expression. 

Harry laughed, his whole body shaking. 

Fred and George dropped the act and smiled innocently when Ron turned around with a withering glare. 

Harry hit Ron’s shoulder with the back of his hand and said something. Ron looked marginally less cross as he rose to his feet, Harry tipping his head towards the grounds. 

They walked off, Harry turning to wave and smile at them behind Ron’s back. 

“Well, you’ve just missed your chance,” Fred said with finality. “I wonder how many more you’ll get?”

“You’re barking mad,” George informed him with a teeth-baring smile. 

“And you’re as obtuse as a cauldron,” Fred shot back. “That was the perfect time to swoop in all knight-in-shining-armor.”

“I’m going to have to break it to Lee that you’ve lost it, he’ll be so disappointed.”

“Not as disappointed as he’ll be to hear you’ve mucked it up again.”

“Mucked up what exactly?” George demanded, feeling a prickle of unease. 

“If you have to ask…” Fred trailed off with a sigh, patting George’s cheek before turning on his heel and striding back towards Angelina. 

George finished off his punch and set aside the suspicion that his twin was right as he made to follow.

As he walked by, Cho and Cedric took their first sips of their punch and immediately spit the spiked drink out, faces contorted in disgust. 

George smirked. 

It was a shame Harry missed it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neville: I wish the Yule Ball lasted longer, it was so much fun. Ginny was really cool to hang out with. How was your guys’ night?!  
> *Ron and Hermione screaming at each other in the background*  
> Harry: Two of the people I have a crush on are dating each other, the other person I have a crush on made me feel better but only because he thinks of me as a little brother, my date left because I truly had no idea how to talk to her or dance, Ron and Hermione are probably going to be fighting for awhile, and I overheard some awkward stuff with Hagrid and his date and then with Snape and the Durmstrang headmaster who might still be evil.  
> Neville: ...you know what, probably a good thing the Yule Ball ended when it did.


	3. George Weasley and the Very Stressful Year, Actually

Harry was not doing well. 

George tried not to get too worried. Harry was going through the complete atrocity that was being fifteen. Not to mention the Daily Prophet’s smear campaign - talk about character assassination. And…well, George could write a book on all the things going wrong with Harry’s year. 

But it broke George’s heart a little bit to see Harry’s cracked open, angry eyes. Then there were the times when he looked lost and tragic, haunted by sadness.

And, to be quite frank, George was pretty sick of how everyone kept treating him like he was one of Bill’s cursed tombs, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. 

Harry had a temper like anyone, but Harry was also one of the sweetest people George had ever met. 

It just wasn’t fair. 

\- - -

Harry had taken to sneaking around Hogwarts, out of sight and out of mind if he wasn’t with Hermione or Ron. 

George found him on the covered bridge one day, idly scribbling on a growing roll of parchment as he referenced a book. 

“Hiya, Harry,” George greeted, dropping down to join him. 

Harry blinked, eyes wide, but then he settled into a hesitant smile. “Hey, George.”

“Whatchu writing?”

“Transfiguration homework,” Harry grunted. “I think the OWLs might kill me.”

“Harry, me old mate, if dark wizards couldn’t manage it, I doubt exams will.”

Harry’s smile grew less hesitant, closer to the ones George remembered. “And that’s why McGonagall will always be more terrifying than Voldemort.”

George huffed out a surprised laugh, regarding Harry with something like pride. “Anything I can help with?”

“Aren’t you busy?” Harry looked uncertain again, like he was scared of imposing. “You and Fred have all the Wheezes stuff you’re working on, don’t you?”

“Sure, but I could use a break and I’m pretty decent at transfiguration,” George shrugged. Then realized something, “Hey, you didn’t ask me where Fred’s at.”

“…no?”

George put his arm around Harry and shook him. “Harry, I don’t know if you realize this, but I come as a matched set.”

Harry snickered, “You know, I think I heard something about that.”

“Yes, dear Harry, there is indeed another red haired man with my face running around the castle. Less handsome though he may be.” George sighed. “And believe it or not, everyone always asks where he is when we’re apart. But you didn’t.”

“Oh.” Harry’s forehead twisted. “I guess…I just didn’t think to ask. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” George laughed, settling in more comfortably at Harry’s side. He knocked their knees together as he snatched Harry’s transfiguration book from him. “It’s refreshing.”

“Is it?” Harry asked, uncertainty creeping into his expression. He’d lost some of his baby fat, face thin, but his features were starting to assert themselves. And his eyes really were lovely with their striking green irises. They were also framed by thick lashes that matched his thick, expressive eyebrows. 

George cleared his throat and focused on the book he’d stolen. “It is. Now, this is stuff I know. Hand me that paper, Potter, I’m gonna make you look so good McGonagall retires in pride. Or shame. I confuse the two.”

Harry laughed, bright and unhampered, and George cherished the moment. 

He cherished it even more once he realized how rare it would become. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: You seem happier.   
> Harry: George helped me with my transfiguration homework yesterday.   
> Luna: In some cultures, I think that counts as a courting step.   
> Harry: Which cultures? Where are they? Can I move there?   
> Luna: I’m not certain, but I’ll look into it if you like. I also know how to forge documents and birth certificates if you need to change citizenship.   
> Harry: Luna, you’re a terrifying and wonderful friend to have.   
> Luna: Thank you, Ginny says the same thing!


	4. George Weasley and the Lonely Year

Business was booming and George credited most of it to his and Fred’s determination, innovation, and knowledge of the market, but a sizable portion of due credit had to be given to Harry’s initial investment. 

“Maybe we should write Harry a thank you note,” George suggested, whistling at their profits as he did the books and Fred checked their inventory. “He got us off the ground and we’re soaring here, twin o’ mine.”

“You can just write him, you know,” Fred suggested absently, ticking a mark on his list. “You don’t need an excuse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” George demanded.

“Three years,” Fred grumbled. “Three years and not a bit of progress.”

George went back to balancing their books, writing the sums down with a little more aggression than strictly necessary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry: Hermione and Ron are so busy with prefect duties, all these strangers keep trying to talk to me, and I miss George.   
> Neville: You could write him?   
> Ginny: I could write him and see if he mentions you?   
> Luna: You could astral project to his location?   
> Harry: ...  
> Neville: ...  
> Ginny: ...  
> Luna: You’re right, silly me. Astral projection is more an after-the-third-date sort of thing.


	5. George Weasley and the War

George tasted blood, his bottom lip split during the chaos of the wedding. He was honestly so sick of blood. 

“They’re fine,” their dad tried to assure them. “They’re clever, all three of them. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“They are missing. Missing is not fine,” their mum cried, sniffling. Ginny rubbed her back, close to tears herself. 

“Harry would never come back or send word, not if it meant putting us all in more danger, especially not after…” Fred glanced at George’s ear. Or rather where it used to be. 

George clenched his fists tighter in his lap. 

“And Ron and Hermione would never leave him alone,” Ginny murmured. 

“They’re fine,” their father tried again, seeming as if he were convincing himself as much as everyone else. 

George’s nails left indents in the meat of his palms. 

\- - -

George listened to the Order meeting, completely silent. 

“We haven’t…” Remus cleared his throat. “We haven’t heard anything about Harry, Hermione, or Ron. But…no news is still good news in this case.”

\- - -

When they learned that the trio was at Bill and Fleur’s cottage, George and Fred laughed and cried so hard George wondered how they had all of that in them. 

\- - -

When word got around about Gringotts, George thought he might have a heart attack. 

“First the Ministry - twice, mind you. Then a dark wizard stronghold. Now Gringotts,” Fred listed off in an amazed daze. “I thought we were supposed to be the troublemakers?”

“You’re the pranksters,” Ginny told them matter-of-factly. “Ron and Harry are without a doubt far more trouble than any of us can reasonably expect to ever be.”

“You’re leaving Hermione out, seems a bit sexist,” Fred said haughtily, earning a slap. 

“Hermione’s too smart. Any trouble she gets into without those two will never be found out.”

George and Fred shared a look. 

“Fair,” Fred acknowledged. 

“These kids are gonna turn me grey,” George eventually moaned to his palms. 

Ginny and Fred pat him on the back. 

“Harry’ll be alright,” Ginny told him knowingly. 

George just groaned louder. 

\- - -

Harry was there. 

Tattered. 

Unkempt. 

Skinny.

Exhausted. 

But alive. 

George felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages. 

\- - - 

Everyone was hugging everyone, the brief armistice full of sobs and shouts of relief and mourning.

Everything smelled of blood and dust. The air hummed with the remnants of spellwork and curses, a tangible energy that raised their hair and reverberated in their ears. 

George did a count of their tightly knit group. His voice cracked as he asked, “Where’s Harry?” 

Everyone looked to Hermione and Ron, the two of them sharing frightened looks. 

“We were with him when…” Hermione trailed off, not knowing something for the first time in all the years George knew her. “Ron, when did we last see Harry? He was here. He was following us into the hall. Wasn’t he?”

Ron looked like he was going to be ill. 

“He can’t have given himself up?” Remus asked, eyes frantic. “He can’t.”

“He’s a fighter,” Tonks tried to assure them all, but especially her husband. 

“His parents, God…I’ve already lost James and Lily and Sirius. If I lose him too I—”

Tonks grabbed his hand as his words devolved into a pained noise from deep in his chest. 

No one spoke and it was a deafening sort of silence. 

“If Harry thought it would save us all…” Ron choked on the rest of his sentence. 

Everyone followed Ron’s train of thought with ease, growing increasingly agitated and worried. 

George remembered every bit of self-sacrificing nonsense he had ever seen Harry commit. Harry, whose need to save everyone got him tricked and trapped and attacked in the Department of Mysteries. Harry, who was palpably horrified when he realized they would all take on his appearance to get him away from Privet Drive. Harry, who looked on with teary-eyed devastation at George splayed out on the couch, coated in his own blood, minus one ear, and not healing nearly fast enough. Harry, who left the wedding without a word to any of them. Harry, who never seemed to understand why they loved him so much and went so far for him. Harry, who didn’t see how his just being Harry was excuse enough. 

If Harry thought he could save them, any of them, he’d walk into the forest and right into the hands of the enemy. He wouldn’t even question it.

Neville stumbled up to them, soot smeared and singed, a concerned frown writ across his brow. 

“Have you seen Harry?” Ginny asked at once, face pale and drawn. 

“Yeah.” They all felt a brief moment of relief before Neville continued and everything became so much worse. “He seemed, I dunno, off. He said he wasn’t…he said he wouldn’t go. But he seemed so…”

Neville’s tired eyes grew watery and guilt ridden as he reached the same conclusion as the rest of them. “I should’ve stopped him. I-I…He went, didn’t he?”

“Of course he went,” Hermione whispered, voice strained. “God, Ron, we should’ve…”

Ron cursed, low and full of regrets and self-recrimination. 

“Foolish boy,” their mum gasped, grasping their dad’s arm and pushing him out of the Great Hall and towards the grounds. “We need to find him before they do.”

“We have to stop him,” Remus snarled, fierce in his fear as he hurried alongside their parents. 

George didn’t say anything, merely ran. 

\- - -

Fred grabbed hold of him when he lost his footing at the sight of a tear streaked Hagrid coming through the tree line, visibly sobbing.

George felt his mouth moving and his throat straining. He suspected he was shouting something at the horde of dark wizards that jeered at them, at Voldemort who looked triumphant and hateful and inhuman. But all he really knew was Harry wasn’t moving. All he knew was that Harry was dead.

When the fighting started again, George was almost happy at the chance to make them feel even a quarter of his pain. 

\- - -

“Hey, George,” Harry smiled, looking so tired and so waxen and so overwhelmed that George almost felt sorry for what he did next. Almost. 

“Ow!” Harry hopped away, crying out when George punched him as hard as he could in the arm. 

“No fair, I was going to hit him,” Ginny declared, sandwiched between their parents. They looked faintly disapproving, but they didn’t tell George or Ginny off. Which said plenty enough about their own thoughts on the matter. 

Righteous and justified punch served, George dragged Harry into the tightest hug he could manage. 

George spoke against Harry’s neck, “You’re a self-sacrificing idiot, you know that? And I’m so happy you’re alive.”

“…I’m sorry. I’m happy I’m alive too.”

More people joined their hug, crowding Harry and doing their best to assure themselves he was alive.

George breathed in deep and closed his eyes, feeling the telltale puff of Harry’s breath against his own neck. 

He heard people say their own words of love to Harry, but all he really paid attention to was the feel of Harry, warm and breathing. 

Sniffling, George rubbed his face on Harry’s filthy shoulder. 

“Sorry about the snot, but I thought you were dead so you’re going to have to deal with this,” George mumbled. 

“George, stop hogging Harry, I want to get some snot on him too,” Fred demanded, wriggling his way in on Harry’s other side. 

“Me too!” Lee cried joyfully, piling on top of them.

“Ew,” Harry laughed, loud and genuine and alive. 

He didn’t try to pull away. 

Which was great because George wasn’t letting go just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry: After all this, I honestly just want to eat a sandwich and crawl into bed.   
> Fred: You know who else would love some sandwiches and crawling into your bed? G-  
> George, casting a silencing charm: Oh no! My poor brother has lost his voice from the rigors of battle. So sad. Anyway, enjoy your sandwich and bed!


	6. George Weasley and the Dawning Realization That He Fucked Up Real Bad

Ginny came running down the stairs brandishing a letter like a grand proclamation. “Luna saw Harry!”

George dropped the prototype he was holding. Luckily, Fred caught it immediately, albeit with an exasperated expression painted clear across his face. 

Shrugging apologetically, George got up to join the rest of the Burrow in the living room. 

“They ended up on the same research and containment expedition in Wales,” Ginny told them. She looked to where Bill was fixing up one of their old prams, “Maybe they’ll see Charlie now that he’s there to help the Welsh preserve!”

“I’ve been meaning to write Charlie, I’ll mention it,” Bill promised her around the wand in his mouth. “He likes the two of them.”

“How did he look? Is he eating well? He’s too skinny, always has been,” their mother muttered, needles clacking together as she worked on a sweater. With the sheer amount she’d be needing for Christmas this year, George wouldn’t be surprised if she was getting a head start. 

“Luna says they’re having a lot of fun,” Ginny read, smiling softly down at the paper. “They’re really getting on with Mr. and Mrs. Scamander. Harry apparently misses us, but he’s very happy and free of pests.”

“Luna said Harry’s free of pests?” Hermione asked incredulously. 

“She actually listed off the creatures that no longer infest Harry, but I didn’t think you’d care all that much about nargles and wrackspurts,” Ginny mumbled, silently reading the rest of the letter. Some sentence or other made her grin wider. 

“Luna’s the best,” Ron said, a brotherly tilt to his mouth. 

“She really is,” Ginny muttered. She looked decidedly less like a sibling when she said it. 

George and Fred shared a look before turning as one towards their sister, eyebrows up and smiles stretching. 

She folded up her letter, ears bright red. “Yeah, so Luna says Harry’s doing well.”

“Thank goodness,” their mother sighed. “He really doesn’t tell us enough in his letters. I’ve been worried since the moment he left.”

“More like since you met the boy,” their father laughed. 

“Harry’s easy to worry about,” Bill noted. “Even Fleur worries about him.”

“That’s because  _ ‘e saved ‘er leetle seester _ ,” Ginny imitated badly. 

“Do Harry and Fleur just…not remember that was a task? With failsafes and plans in place in case of emergencies?” Hermione asked, looking genuinely confused. 

“Oh, Harry, remembers,” Fred told them wisely. “Any time she brings it up he gets all embarrassed. It’s adorable. Just ask George.”

George made a face at his twin. Fred blinked blithely at him, the right bastard.

No one else seemed to clock what Fred said, which was a small miracle.

“Fleur knows,” Bill told them defensively. “She just likes that Harry would do something like that. Especially for a girl he never even met.”

“I hope he comes back soon,” Hermione mentioned, doing her best not to look as affected as she was by her best friend’s absence. 

“He said he would,” Ron tried to comfort her, though he looked just as forlorn as Hermione without any of the ability to hide it.

“Don’t rush him, he’ll be back when he’s ready. And I’m glad Harry’s getting to see a bit of the world,” their father said paternally. “He deserves the break.”

“Only Harry would consider chasing after rogue beasts and runaway wizards a break,” Ron snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“That boy needs to settle down,” their mother clucked. “He’s earned a rest.”

George agreed heartily. 

\- - -

They ate lunch outside, enjoying the surprisingly warm and pleasant weather. A notifying screech pierced the calm spring air, a post owl coming to a graceful stop at the end of their table. 

“Oh, it’s from Harry!” Their mum gave the unfamiliar owl a pat before it flew off, hooting happily. 

“He better be coming, it’s been bloody well over a year and he keeps saying he’ll be back soon,” Ron complained, earning a comforting kiss from Hermione. 

George, Fred, and Ginny all made various mocking noises ranging from saccharine coos to obnoxiously loud gags. 

“Be nice,” their mother chided as she opened the letter and read its contents. She flapped the letter in her hands and teared up, grinning widely as she screamed, “He’s coming home!”

Everyone froze for a moment, processing what she said. Moment taken, they collectively erupted into cheers and exclamations of joy. 

“Finally!” Ron threw his hands up in the air. 

“I can’t wait to ask him about the work he did,” Hermione beamed. “And all the places he’s been!”

“We have to tell Remus and Tonks,” their mother realized. “They’ll want to bring Teddy.”

“And Luna and Neville!” Ginny declared. 

“We ought to make a party of it,” their father suggested. “A welcome home party sounds like just the thing.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Arthur! Let’s see…I’ll have to make all his favorite things. And we should see about a cake. We already did a snitch for his seventeenth birthday. Or do you think he’s too old for that sort of thing now? Maybe just something simple and homey. And then we’ve got to figure out a guest list…”

Bill bounced his daughter as she made grabs at Fleur’s silvery hair. “Do you think he’ll like Victoire?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Fleur told him, brushing her fingers over her daughter’s cheek. “He will adore her. And she will adore her Uncle Harry, I am sure. She already cannot sleep without the doll he sent her.”

“I think that’s because it looks like you, babe,” Bill suggested, snorting. 

“I wonder if Harry met any full blooded veela while he was on the continent.” Charlie wagged his eyebrows up and down. 

George frowned, swatting at Fred when he poked him in the side.

Fleur smirked. “If he was very lucky.”

“He did see Viktor,” Hermione mentioned. “Sounds like they got along pretty well. They even flew a bit together.”

Ron made to say something, but stopped at Hermione’s unamused look.

“Viktor wrote me this!” Fleur exclaimed, gesturing widely. “He said it was such fun, seeing Harry again. Viktor remembers him being such a quiet, little boy. Now he is a man. I think Viktor liked him very much.”

George narrowed his eyes, wondering just how much was very much. 

“Are you kidding me?” Fred whispered, slapping a hand to his own cheek in disbelief. 

“When  _ is _ Harry coming back?” George asked, realizing that it hadn’t been mentioned. He also badly needed to avoid Fred’s judgement. 

Their mother frowned down at the letter while everyone craned their necks in bad attempts at catching a glimpse of Harry’s messy scrawl. 

A familiar, but long absent voice called, “Right now?” 

Every head turned, eyes wide and surprised. 

A sheepish Harry waved at them from over the garden wall, a waxed canvas rucksack thrown over his shoulder. “Sorry about the lack of warning, the team finished up sooner than we expected. I didn’t realize I’d end up following my letter so closely.”

It devolved into absolute chaos. 

“Harry?!”

“You’re back!”

“Let me get a look at you, dear!”

“HARRY!”

They swarmed him like bees, buzzing and laughing and pulling him into hugs. 

George glommed onto him like an octopus, smile sappy and giving far too much away if anyone was paying close attention. “It’s been ages and ages, old sport!”

“Old sport?” Harry sputtered, looking at him with that familiar green eyed gaze George missed so much. “Who says that?”

“Me,” George declared certainly, stepping back so his dad and mum could pull Harry in for their turn. George blinked. “Have you gotten taller?”

Harry just shrugged, looking not at all concerned about the fact that he had to stoop to enfold their mother in a hug. 

“You need a shave,” their mother told him at once. “Look at this beard!”

“I like it!” Harry laughed, rubbing his face self-consciously. “Luna said it made me look distinguished.”

“She did not mention that to us,” Ginny told him. “You look good, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes like he didn’t believe her. 

“I don’t know how I feel about the beard, but I do like the haircut,” Hermione complimented. 

George knew how he felt about the beard, his gut tightening tellingly. And the haircut. The sides and back were cut shorter than Harry had them for awhile, but the top was still voluminous and unruly, sticking up at odd angles. It looked purposefully roguish now, especially paired with the beard, and it suited him far too well. 

“What are you wearing?” George choked out, fully taking in Harry now that the surprise of his arrival had finally worn off. He’d obviously been out and about during his year away, skin tanned into a deeper brown. He was also clearly eating better, not at all the skinny, weedy thing he’d been for such a long time.

“Oh, Mr. Scamander gave it to me.” Beaming happily, Harry spun a little, showing off the flatteringly fitted blue coat he wore over a shirt and distressed pair of jeans. “He lent it to me after my coat caught fire. Before I could give it back, he said it looked good on me and he had spares, so I should keep it. He’s really nice, I like him a lot. And the pockets in this thing are incredible.”

“Were you wearing your old coat at the time it caught fire?” Hermione asked, horrified. Their mum gawked, similarly distraught. 

“Er…yeah. But that’s a boring story,” Harry tried to deflect. “How are you all? I’ve missed everyone so much!”

That set off another round of cheers and shouts in greeting. 

Harry exuded overwhelmed happiness as he was passed around the group and moved towards the table. He was plopped into a seat across from George, Ron and Hermione talking at him a mile a minute. 

The sun was high and the clouds were scant, so eventually Harry caved to the warmth of the afternoon. He shucked the coat off and folded it over his chair’s back, revealing toned arms and broad shoulders under his soft, well worn muggle shirt. 

George flailed and spilled his water. He scrambled to mop it up with every napkin he could reach, the back of his neck hot and getting hotter.

“ _ Wow _ ,” Fred told him, so much put into that single syllable that George honestly didn’t want to meet his twin’s eyes. 

“Shut. Up.” George hissed, praying that no one would notice. 

Harry tilted his head a little, watching the two of them in confused amusement. 

George plastered on a semi convincing grin. And then proceeded to choke out a new observation, “What happened to your eyebrow?”

Harry ducked his head and huffed out an embarrassed breath. His calloused hand came up, fingers lightly touching the scar that cut through his eyebrow. “It’s nothing. Just an accident with a scared bowtruckle. It felt really bad about it after.”

“Oh, cool,” George wheezed, eyes drawn to the new scar and the way it flattered his face, giving a dangerous edge to his friendly features. “Hagrid always did say they’d go for the eyes.”

Harry gave him a questioning look, but then Ginny, Ron, and Charlie dragged him into a conversation about quidditch.

Ginny told him a story about Ron’s attempt at playing seeker for one of their family games and Harry threw his head back, laughing throatily and exposing the tempting expanse of his neck. 

George set his hand down weird and somehow flung his knife off the table edge. It hit the grass with a sad, anticlimactic thump. 

Fred poked him again and George stomped on his foot, making him jolt and drop his fork. Fred picked it back up daintily and took a pointed bite, radiating disapproval and judgement. 

Ginny and Hermione happened to look over, giving them both suspicious, considering looks. 

George didn’t much like the calculating smirks they exchanged.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the disarray attractively artful, and stretched his arms. His shirt rode up, revealing a tantalizing stripe of bare skin at his waist that was hidden as soon as Harry lowered his arms. 

Abandoning his severely diminished pride, George slammed his forehead on the table, narrowly missing his plate as Fred quickly slid it away. 

“Ta very much,” George mumbled.

“Anytime,” Fred said, far more kindly than George thought he deserved. 

He put Fred through years of obliviousness and outright denial. 

He owed him a favor. 

Maybe he’d do the next load of laundry. Clean their apartment. Something. 

“Is George ok?” Harry asked, voice pitched low. 

“I have no idea with those two,” Ron answered. 

“He’s fine,” Ginny told them. “Just being dramatic. Harry, you were telling us about Mrs. Scamander?”

“Oh! Yeah, she was an auror in New York. Isn’t that cool? Apparently they call muggles ‘no-majs’ there...which makes a lot more sense...”

They spoke about the Scamanders, Harry’s attention taken off of George and his hopelessness. 

George sighed into the tablecloth. 

He probably owed Ginny a favor too. 

\- - -

George sought refuge in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and watching out the window as Harry played with Victoire under Bill and Fleur’s watchful eyes. George’s parents were murmuring something to each other as they sat to the side, eyes darting from Harry and the baby to where Hermione and Ron sat on the grass, hands clasped loosely together. 

The baby was still very young, so their play mostly consisted of Harry making smoke shapes with his wand. They even changed colors, which was a real hit with Victoire. Harry was surprisingly good at it. 

Victoire waved a pudgy hand, patting Harry on the cheek in babyish delight. Harry beamed, eyes crinkling in mirth. 

“Well, fuck me,” George groaned, dumping the remains of his water down the sink. 

“Harry can’t hear you through the glass,” Fred told him matter-of-factly, sauntering in as if his twin wasn’t having a mental breakdown. Ice cold. 

“If I asked you to drown me in this sink, would you?” George asked. 

“No.”

“What if I asked very nicely? You could have all my earthly possessions.”

“Tempting, but still no.” Fred leaned against the counter, eyeing George with an exaggerated look of pity. George slapped his bicep and earned a shit-eating grin. “Why don’t you just ask him out?”

“Why don’t you come up with some better ideas?” George suggested right back. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Ginny asked, walking in with a plate of leftover pasties. Fred snatched one up and started to munch. “He says yes and you have a great time and get married and have a bunch of green eyed, ethnically ambiguous babies.”

“You-you’re-” George squeaked. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice. “You’re mental.”

“You’ve fancied Harry for ages,” Ginny accused. “Do something about it!”

“She’s right, you know,” Fred told him through a mouthful. 

“She is,” Hermione agreed, entering the kitchen with a pleasant smile. She poured herself a cup of water, eyes dancing as George gaped at her like a giant gormless loser. 

“Oh, so just everybody knows about the big stupid crush I have on Harry? Even though I didn’t even figure it out for literal years?”

“Yeah,” Fred nodded like it was obvious, finishing off his pasty. 

Ginny tossed her ponytail with an air of superiority. “Pretty much.”

“Ron probably doesn’t know,” Hermione told him, smiling sympathetically. 

“This is just-just…ridiculous! That’s what this is.” George crossed his arms in agitation to really hammer the point home. 

“Be that as it may,” Hermione allowed, “What’s stopping you from asking him?”

Fred raised an eyebrow and waved a hand, trying to get George to fess up. “Tell the lovely ladies, George.”

“Ugh,” George grunted, covering his face with his hands. “I told Harry he was basically a brother.”

“What?!” Ginny shrieked, laughing right in his face. 

Maybe he didn’t owe her a favor after all. 

“Laugh it up,” George told her scathingly. “Bask in my pain.”

“I am, trust me,” she giggled. “Why would you tell him that? Did you just never want to snog him or…?”

“That’s what I told him!” Fred threw his arms out wide, enjoying the validation. 

“What you told me was to keep my options open,” George shot back. 

Ginny’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “Gross.”

“That sounds absolutely awful,” Hermione confirmed, a similar look of displeasure on her face. 

“Hey, hey!” Fred held his hands up. “Let’s stay on topic and remember that George is the one who screwed up first.”

Rolling their eyes in a moment of synchronicity that was worthy of the twins themselves, Hermione and Ginny looked back at George. 

“It’s not that bad,” Hermione tried encouragingly. 

“It’s a little bad,” Ginny corrected. 

“It’s not!” Hermione blew out an exasperated breath. “It’s not…ideal. But that was a while ago, right?”

“Your guys’ third year,” George confessed. 

“Ok, see! That’s a good long while,” she smiled. “And Harry was probably really happy you said that anyway.”

“Why would Harry be happy with being called a brother by the bloke he fancies?” Fred asked, mouth twisted. 

“He wouldn’t have loved it, obviously,” Hermione told them in her knowingest-of-know-it-alls voice. “Who would? But also…Harry never really had a family, did he? His uncle and aunt and cousin treated him terribly. They were cruel, frightened people and they didn’t know how to appreciate Harry. So he probably only thought of the good part of it in the end. You know Harry. He’s not going to get hung up on the fact that his crush said something less than romantic when he had irrefutable spoken proof that he was loved and liked.”

George, Fred, and Ginny all blinked at Hermione, mouths slightly slack. 

“It’s not that hard to empathize,” Hermione defended irritably. “Anyway, I don’t think Harry would let something you said years and years ago influence his decision.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” George decided. 

The other three all made their malcontent clear. 

Fred tossed out a light, “Piss off.”

“Really, George, it’s so simple,” Hermione took a sip of water, looking wise as well as hydrated. “Just ask him. And if he doesn’t fancy you back, that’s unfortunate, but he’ll be kind about it.”

“He was very nice to me back in my first year,” Ginny agreed. “And I could barely even look at him, it was so embarrassing. I thought he was so cute.”

“And that was before he got fit,” Hermione pointed out nonchalantly. 

George covered his face again. “He got so fit.”

Fred straightened up a bit. “I’m so happy we’re going to talk about this out loud. What in Merlin’s laciest pants happened during his year away?”

“He got so tall,” Ginny sighed. 

“And his hair looks lovely,” Hermione added. “It used to just be this messy black mop and now it looks really good.”

“And the clothes,” George grunted to his fingers. “He actually wears clothes that fit.”

“The beard,” George, Fred, and Ginny said as one. 

They looked at each other approvingly. 

“I still don’t know how I feel about the beard,” Hermione said, making an uncertain face. 

“It’s hot, is how you should feel about the beard,” George told her stubbornly.

“Maybe I’m not a beard person,” Hermione mused, unmoved by George’s firm stance. 

“I cannot believe Luna didn’t tell me about the beard.” Humming, Ginny mentioned, “I should run over to her house and tell her off.”

“Right, that’s what you’ll run over to Luna’s to do,” George told her with a wink. 

“Die,” she ordered, throwing a tea towel at him. 

He dodged it, sticking his tongue out in retaliation. 

“Harry really has gotten quite eligible,” Hermione noted, ignoring the two of them. “It started in sixth year, but it hasn’t stopped.”

“Let’s all agree to hide him from Rita Skeeter as long as possible,” Fred suggested. “Think of the articles.”

“Think of the photos,” Ginny shuddered. 

“Think of the mobs,” George sighed morosely. 

“How about you think a little bit more about asking Harry out on a date?” Hermione chimed in, getting George right where it hurt. 

“I’d look like such a shallow knobhead,” George replied sourly. “I can’t.”

“And why would you look like that?” Hermione asked patiently. 

“Other than because you’re a knobhead,” Fred chipped in ever so helpfully. 

“Because!” George leaned back against the counter, a pathetic, slouching mirror of Fred’s position beside him. “Because I never said anything until Harry got this tall and this broad but lean and this bearded. With the cute little scar too.”

George poked despondently at his own eyebrow. 

Hermione, Ginny, and Fred looked at him like he was the stupidest man in the wizarding world. Which felt mean, but pretty justified. 

“So it would seem really vapid and meaningless, wouldn’t it?” George threw out a disheartened hand. “It would look like I only asked Harry out because he’s mind meltingly hot now. I didn’t ask him out when I found out he fancied me. I didn’t ask him out when he was lanky and knobby kneed.”

“He’s still pretty knobby kneed,” Ginny muttered factually. 

“I didn’t ask him out when he was grumpy or sad or-or just sitting about having a hard time of it. I didn’t make any moves at all.” Crestfallen at his own speech, George shrugged. “So yeah, I think Harry would see me asking him out now as something…bad. Like I only like this new, fresh from his tour of the world Harry.”

“Well…” Hermione scanned him over with cunning, searching eyes. “Do you?”

“Of course not!” George’s voice rose. “You heard Ginny. I’ve fancied Harry for ages. He laughs at all my jokes, he’s kind, he’s fun, he loves quidditch about the same amount as me and we like the same teams. His eyes sparkle and his smiles are like sunshine. He snorts sometimes and it’s so adorable I want to kiss him. He’s awful at potions and he’s better than witches and wizards three times his age at defense. He always smells like wind. And he somehow perfectly understands without being told that Fred and I are a package deal, but also our own individual selves. He’s brave, and selfless, and so infuriatingly humble about it that I want to shake him until he realizes how wonderful he is. So no, I don’t just like this new, shiny, sexy beard having Harry. I’ve liked all Harrys. Every single one. Happy Harry, Angry Harry, Sad Harry, Stupid Harry, Brilliant Harry, Modest Harry, Hero Harry, Sassy Harry. All of them. Always.”

Fred made an impressed noise, head nodding approvingly. “Nice.”

“Aw, cute,” Ginny beamed. 

Hermione looked at him like he’d just shown her Outstandings on all his OWLs. “That was really romantic, George.”

“But all completely useless,” George let out a frustrated growl. “Because I can’t tell Harry.”

“Why the bloody hell not?” Fred looked mutinous. He was getting ready to dose him with veritaserum and set him loose on Harry, George could tell. He knew that face. 

“Because even if Harry doesn’t mind that I waited this long to mention my feelings to him and even if he believes that I like him for the right reasons, there’s still the little problem of how unbelievably weird it would be for him. Like an idiot, brainless fifteen year old me told him I thought of him like a brother. And now I’m just supposed to tell him I think he’s fit and gorgeous and how I’d love to snog him against a wall and bite his neck?! That makes me sound absolutely deluded!”

“Knew you were a freak,” Fred winked proudly. “Some things twins just share in common.”

Ginny pulled a face, nose scrunched and mouth screwed up. “That is so gross and too much information for your sister.”

“Maybe don’t phrase your confession quite like that,” Hermione advised carefully, one eye squinted. 

“Uh…”

They all turned slowly to face Harry. 

Behind the shine of his glasses, his eyes darted between the four of them. 

“Hey,” Harry said, voice giving nothing away. 

George blurted the first thing to come to mind. “Bugger.”

“We’re going now,” Ginny proclaimed, grabbing Hermione’s wrist.

Hermione gave them both an encouraging nod before letting herself be pulled back outside by Ginny. 

Fred lingered in the entryway long enough to shoot George two thumbs up, finger guns, and finally a wink. He really went all out. 

Harry stared at him, barely blinking. George did the same. 

They heard yelling out in the garden. Someone shushed everyone outside. 

“So…” George began, unable to stand the awkward silence. “How’s it going?”

Harry finally blinked. And then proceeded to laugh. So hard.

“Oh my god,” Harry garbled out, catching his breath. 

Umbrage taken, George stood to his full height and declared, “It’s not that funny!”

“Yeah, it really is,” Harry chuckled, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. His chest heaved as he kept sucking in steadying breaths. 

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Not,”

“Is.”

“Oh, pardon me for having feelings,” George tossed his head with all the dramatics he could muster. It was either play up the bit or let his thrumming heart be overtaken by panic and anxiety. So he went for the dramatics. 

Harry sobered despite George’s best attempt at making light of the situation and regarded George with a fond, crinkly eyed smile. “That’s not the funny part, George.”

“Then what is?” George grumbled, grouchiness deployed for the express purpose of disguising the sudden prick of vulnerability at the base of his spin as well as the near frantic stuttering of his heart. 

Expression tender, Harry told him, “That you really think something you said to me more than half a decade ago would stop me from wanting to be with you now.”

Just. Wait. One. Damn. Second. 

“Just wait one damn second,” George ordered, pointing at Harry like he was accusing him of the most grievous of bodily harm. “You still fancy me!”

Harry’s face flushed, his eyebrows drew together, and he sucked his lips in, beautiful features crafting the most awkward looking face George had ever seen. “Yes.”

“Holy harpies,” George mumbled, stunned at the revelation. “Even though I told you you were like a brother to me?”

“I didn’t love that,” Harry laughed, scratching his jaw. “It was definitely weird for me. I mean…I had the biggest crush on you! It was somehow both awful and really, really sweet. Even if it wasn’t what I wanted, it was a nice sentiment, you know?”

“Hermione’s really good at the emotional stuff, isn’t she?”

“Hermione’s good at almost everything,” Harry confirmed, pride in his friend’s abilities resonating like honey in his voice. “Divination, chess, drawing, and cryptomagizoology are her only weak points. Everything else she’s got covered.”

“I definitely should’ve listened to her and just asked you out if you hadn’t walked in,” George realized. 

“Yeah, probably. It doesn’t hurt that she’s my best friend and if she’s telling you to ask me out, she probably knows enough about how I feel to be comfortable giving you that sort of advice.” 

Harry smirked at him, shaking his head in a lovely sort of embarrassment. Like he thought George was being absolutely stupid and still liked him - maybe even liked him for it. 

“That makes so much sense,” George breathed, eyes wide.

“So…” Harry chewed on his bottom lip. He always had chapped lips and George wondered if that was why. “Want to go…get a drink or something tonight?”

“Harry, my dear, I would love that more than anything,” George told him earnestly, sidling up to Harry’s side and throwing an arm over his shoulders. His warm, very wonderfully built shoulders. “But first, want to go have a snog in the bushes?”

“George!” Harry barked out a laugh, caught off guard and slightly scandalized. 

“What?” George blinked innocently. “Is that a no?”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said slowly. 

George’s heart picked up speed faster than a Firebolt on a wind current. 

“But first…” Harry’s lips curled in a slanted, impish smirk. “Promise me you don’t think of me as a brother.”

“Ugh,” George grunted, dropping his head to Harry’s shoulder. 

The younger man laughed, his shaking shoulder bouncing George’s head. 

“I need to know you don’t consider me family in that way, George,” Harry continued, voice full of devious humor. “For my own peace of mind.” 

“This is awful and I hate it,” George told Harry’s shoulder. 

“Because if you do…well, that’s going to require a conversation.”

“Why do I like you again?” George asked, knowing the answer full well. 

“Haven’t a clue,” Harry answered, losing his teasing tone and sounding more awestruck. 

George raised his head and spun Harry so they were facing each other. Hands gripping Harry’s shoulders, George met the other man’s eyes - direct and bare. 

“Because you’re Harry,” George told him. 

Harry’s eyes flit away, his lips quirking in a growing smile. He muttered, “I knew the beard was a good idea.”

George blinked. 

And then he grinned, wide and so in love it was actually quite the incredible experience. Given the choice, he’d do it again. And again. And again.

“Harry, mate, that joke was awful.”

They shared a laugh, Harry’s gaze full of affection and mirth and completely devoid of shame over his terrible play on words. George saw his chance and took it.

When they kissed, it felt like the Burrow and Hogwarts and quidditch and rowdy dinners. It felt like warm sweaters and sugary sweets. It felt like the sleepy hooting of owls and roaring fireplaces and buttered toast. It felt like old books and ink stained parchment and frayed quills, like snowballs and sparks and patronuses and shield charms. Like mismatched socks and half finished cups of tea. Like sun warmed grass and unbridled laughter. Like bad dancing and worse jokes.

It felt like Harry. 

It felt like George. 

It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron: So you two are a thing now, huh?  
> Harry: Er, yeah.  
> George, smacking a kiss on Harry’s cheek: Yup!  
> Ron, pointing at George: If you hurt him, they’ll never find your body.  
> Harry: Did Ron just-?  
> Hermione: Good lord.  
> George: What?! Why do I get the shovel talk? I’m YOUR brother?  
> Ron: Honestly, since the teddy bear spider incident, I’ve just been waiting for the perfect excuse.


End file.
